Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [70]
“Are you all right, Keren? What happened?” Robyn and Tristan began to ply the door with questions, but Daryth silenced them with a curt gesture.
Keren seemed to understand, for no further sound emerged from the room, Minutes passed like hours, and still the deft fingers of the Calishite could not spring the stubborn lock. Sweat beaded on Daryth’s forehead, and his brow furrowed in concentration. In the distance they could still hear the bellowing of angry Firbolgs.
Daryth cursed in frustration, wiped his palms on his shirt, and returned the tool to the lock.
Tristan developed a cramp in his fingers, and only then did he realize that he held his hands clenched tightly into fists. With an effort, he forced himself to relax, breathing in a long, deep rhythm as Arlen had taught him.
Then the lock clicked, a loud sound among the tense companions. The door creaked eerily as Daryth pushed it open.
A figure staggered toward them from the darkness. Its face was gaunt and haggard – its clothing torn and tattered into rags. Around the eyes spread dark, bloody circles. Yet those eyes held the light of humor and wisdom they had come to know and appreciate in the bard.
“Keren!” Robyn sprang forward to embrace the bard in a hug. He held her for a moment, smiling at the others over her shoulder.
“You don’t know how good it is to see you!” he exclaimed, his voice shaking.
They said nothing for several moments, until Pawldo’s voice brought them sharply back to reality, “Save the tea party for later,” groused the halfling. “Let’s get outta here!”
“I’m comin’ too!”
The sound of a strange voice brought Daryth, Robyn, and Tristan around immediately. They stared in wonder at a bedraggled figure emerging from the dark corner of the cell.
“What’s the matter?” demanded the obviously female, if not feminine, voice. “Ain’t you guys never seen a beard before?”
The stubby figure emerged into the light and glared belligerently at them. She (if the voice was to be believed) stood perhaps four feet tall, with a stocky body, short legs, and long arms. Her shoulders were broad and sturdy, and her legs ended in surprisingly large feet, protected by huge leather boots.
The face of the stranger disappeared completely behind a bristling beard that dropped past the beltline. A sloppy hat could not conceal an equally unruly mass of hair atop the rounded head.
“Allow me to present Finellen,” said Keren, hastily intervening. “My dear, these are the young heroes I was telling you about…”
“Hmph!” muttered Finellen, as Tristan recognized her nature.
“You’re a dwarf, aren’t you?” he said. “I consider it a high honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.” Finellen seemed slightly mollified, deigning to give the prince a quick once-over.
“Finellen had the misfortune, as did I, to be taken prisoner by the Firbolgs,” explained the bard as they moved into the corridor.
“I suppose I owe you my thanks,” admitted the dwarf. She hastily continued. “But don’t go gettin’ any ideas about takin’ advantage of my gratitude! It won’t work!”
Tristan, taken aback by the dwarf’s rudeness, ignored it and said, “Here’s your bow, Keren. We found it in the treasure room.”
“Why, thank you!” A surprised Keren quickly inspected the weapon, stringing it in one powerful motion. “Have you an extra weapon for Finellen? – I saw her fight these brutes, and we would do well to have her aid.”
“I don’t have much use for this anymore,” said Daryth, extending his dagger, hilt first, to the dwarf.
“This scimitar will do me just fine.”
Finellen snatched the dagger quickly, studying the workmanship and running a callused thumb along the blade. “Thanks,” she grunted. “I’ll give it back when I’m through killing Firbolgs.”
“Let’s get out of here,” urged Pawldo. “I’ve a feeling some giant is looking to turn me into a pancake!”
They rapidly retraced their steps, this time with Pawldo and Finellen in the lead. Certainly there were Firbolgs ahead of them. One deep voice in particular commanded their attention, and it sounded as